What's so great about Before Midnight
As film trailers go, the one for Before Midnight is quite unusual: it gives virtually nothing away. That may partly be because of the nature of the film itself. Not a great deal happens, which is part of its appeal.
A bit like Waiting for Godot, Before Midnight mainly consists of two people talking to each other, and is a film of two halves. The first I found nauseating and irritating – it made me want to throw my shoes at the screen. But this seemed to make the second half even more powerful.
Reactions seem to reflect this duality. According to reviews and comment boards, it has divided audiences. There are those for whom a film consisting of two middle class navelgazers who can afford to spend lengthy holidays in a secluded Greek idyll dissecting the intricacies of their relationship amounts to nothing more than self-indulgent arthouse wankery. And I must admit, I was on the verge of pulling out my toenails with my teeth, the middle class tweeness permeating the film's first half was so cloying.
But if it was just that, I wouldn't be writing about it here. Set in Greece and filmed mostly in real time, Before Midnight is a modern tragedy using the Aristotelian dramatic techniques of unity of time and action. Its dual structure sets up a dramatic contrast between the first half's sunny banter and depictions of gilded groves and ruin-strewn landscapes, and the shift in the second half to a poky hotel room. And talk about catharsis. By the end I felt not just purged, but concussed. The film hurt.
There's trouble in paradise, and the film isn't called Before Midnight for nothing, for as in fairy tales, midnight is when the magic ends. In a long scene which would work well on stage, what follows is worth the cringe of the first half. Arranged by well-meaning friends, what's meant to be a child-free night of passion in a hotel room turns into a dark night of the soul for Jesse and Celine. Not only is their romance timetabled and contrived, as opposed to spontaneous, but petty tensions also resurface, old arguments and grudges are revisited, and issues regarding childcare and careers threaten the foundations of their relationship.
Unlike those who loathed it, I found this part of the film compelling for its honesty and realism. Brutal and brilliant, it had me mesmerised because I identified with so much of it. Celine is proud, angry, brittle and martyrish – traits I recognise in myself – while Jesse is vain, immature at times, and a bit of a letch. Their romantic liaison is one of several cinematic cliches smashed to pieces in this film. Much less cinematically interesting than a good old row, the "sex scene" (what there is of it) is clumsy and awkward, and from the meandering badinage of the first half, their dialogue changes into an interplay of attack and defence saturated in bitterness and hurt.
Then there's the question of aesthetics. Both Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke are well-known eye candy, but neither seem precious about their looks here, particularly Delpy. While most mainstream films contain idealised, unrealistic, highly-stylised depictions of women who, even if they're meant to be worn down and hard-bitten, nevertheless display a certain elegant dishevelment, here she is strikingly natural, almost ordinary. Her character is a forty-something mother of two and she looks it. Lacking the hard, taut musculature I've grown weary of seeing on women onscreen, she is positively large-hipped and soft-armed by cinematic standards, and I can think of no other film where women are depicted in such a way. Seeming to care little about how she looks or comes across, Julie Delpy shows no signs of artifice; she just "is".
What's more, she's prepared to display her imperfect body. Hence another reason why the trailer shows so little: she spends much of the hotel room scene topless.
Actually, she's got great breasts, and if we're going to go with the whole Greek thing, what with her alabaster skin and delicate, glacial beauty, her resemblance to ancient Greek sculpture has to be deliberate, perhaps an ironic nod to the modern "sculpting" of the female body in the form of extreme exercise, dieting and surgery.
Yet, while context is everything – it is a sex scene after all – her toplessness seems to have attracted some controversy. Discussion boards mention people walking out of screenings, while others have called it gratuitous.
This is sad, because the female body is evidently offensive to some, requiring figleaves at all times. The point is, her toplessness lends realism to the scene. As Julie Delpy herself asks, "[W]ho has sex wearing a bra?.. I’m 43 – it’s not about trying to be a sex object… [F]or us it was important to show something about a relationship that was real."
Putting her top back on would have been artificial, and pandering to that other great cinematic cliche - when actors pull the sheet around them, or slip on their boxers in a nano-second, as if there's a fire alarm. The nudity here deserves to be celebrated because the only other places we see famous breasts are as the focus of a paparazzo's lens, featuring on a gossip website's sidebar of shame with a red ring highlighting perceived areas of imperfection.
It's a relief to see a mature woman depicted without ridicule or criticism – or even sensitivity (which would be patronising). The fact that it was done in such an unself-conscious way was groundbreaking to me. Celine's breasts weren't there to serve a purpose – for titillation or eroticism, or to make some grand socio-political point. After a while there was no point in them being there at all, really, and you forgot about them – which was ace.
Everyone needs to see women's natural naked bodies in new contexts, without shame or embarrassment, or as objects of titillation. We all particularly need to see more honest depictions of mature women – because it might just get people to view women's bodies differently. There's so much ignorance about our bodies as it is.
We all know there's no such thing as "normal", yet all too often films set up their own definitions of what constitutes a "normal" body. One of the great things about Before Midnight was that it broke with those conventions. If you're looking for special effects, go elsewhere. A real pair of breasts beats special effects any day.
Reactions seem to reflect this duality. According to reviews and comment boards, it has divided audiences. There are those for whom a film consisting of two middle class navelgazers who can afford to spend lengthy holidays in a secluded Greek idyll dissecting the intricacies of their relationship amounts to nothing more than self-indulgent arthouse wankery. And I must admit, I was on the verge of pulling out my toenails with my teeth, the middle class tweeness permeating the film's first half was so cloying.
But if it was just that, I wouldn't be writing about it here. Set in Greece and filmed mostly in real time, Before Midnight is a modern tragedy using the Aristotelian dramatic techniques of unity of time and action. Its dual structure sets up a dramatic contrast between the first half's sunny banter and depictions of gilded groves and ruin-strewn landscapes, and the shift in the second half to a poky hotel room. And talk about catharsis. By the end I felt not just purged, but concussed. The film hurt.
There's trouble in paradise, and the film isn't called Before Midnight for nothing, for as in fairy tales, midnight is when the magic ends. In a long scene which would work well on stage, what follows is worth the cringe of the first half. Arranged by well-meaning friends, what's meant to be a child-free night of passion in a hotel room turns into a dark night of the soul for Jesse and Celine. Not only is their romance timetabled and contrived, as opposed to spontaneous, but petty tensions also resurface, old arguments and grudges are revisited, and issues regarding childcare and careers threaten the foundations of their relationship.
Unlike those who loathed it, I found this part of the film compelling for its honesty and realism. Brutal and brilliant, it had me mesmerised because I identified with so much of it. Celine is proud, angry, brittle and martyrish – traits I recognise in myself – while Jesse is vain, immature at times, and a bit of a letch. Their romantic liaison is one of several cinematic cliches smashed to pieces in this film. Much less cinematically interesting than a good old row, the "sex scene" (what there is of it) is clumsy and awkward, and from the meandering badinage of the first half, their dialogue changes into an interplay of attack and defence saturated in bitterness and hurt.
Then there's the question of aesthetics. Both Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke are well-known eye candy, but neither seem precious about their looks here, particularly Delpy. While most mainstream films contain idealised, unrealistic, highly-stylised depictions of women who, even if they're meant to be worn down and hard-bitten, nevertheless display a certain elegant dishevelment, here she is strikingly natural, almost ordinary. Her character is a forty-something mother of two and she looks it. Lacking the hard, taut musculature I've grown weary of seeing on women onscreen, she is positively large-hipped and soft-armed by cinematic standards, and I can think of no other film where women are depicted in such a way. Seeming to care little about how she looks or comes across, Julie Delpy shows no signs of artifice; she just "is".
What's more, she's prepared to display her imperfect body. Hence another reason why the trailer shows so little: she spends much of the hotel room scene topless.
Actually, she's got great breasts, and if we're going to go with the whole Greek thing, what with her alabaster skin and delicate, glacial beauty, her resemblance to ancient Greek sculpture has to be deliberate, perhaps an ironic nod to the modern "sculpting" of the female body in the form of extreme exercise, dieting and surgery.
Yet, while context is everything – it is a sex scene after all – her toplessness seems to have attracted some controversy. Discussion boards mention people walking out of screenings, while others have called it gratuitous.
This is sad, because the female body is evidently offensive to some, requiring figleaves at all times. The point is, her toplessness lends realism to the scene. As Julie Delpy herself asks, "[W]ho has sex wearing a bra?.. I’m 43 – it’s not about trying to be a sex object… [F]or us it was important to show something about a relationship that was real."
Putting her top back on would have been artificial, and pandering to that other great cinematic cliche - when actors pull the sheet around them, or slip on their boxers in a nano-second, as if there's a fire alarm. The nudity here deserves to be celebrated because the only other places we see famous breasts are as the focus of a paparazzo's lens, featuring on a gossip website's sidebar of shame with a red ring highlighting perceived areas of imperfection.
It's a relief to see a mature woman depicted without ridicule or criticism – or even sensitivity (which would be patronising). The fact that it was done in such an unself-conscious way was groundbreaking to me. Celine's breasts weren't there to serve a purpose – for titillation or eroticism, or to make some grand socio-political point. After a while there was no point in them being there at all, really, and you forgot about them – which was ace.
Everyone needs to see women's natural naked bodies in new contexts, without shame or embarrassment, or as objects of titillation. We all particularly need to see more honest depictions of mature women – because it might just get people to view women's bodies differently. There's so much ignorance about our bodies as it is.
We all know there's no such thing as "normal", yet all too often films set up their own definitions of what constitutes a "normal" body. One of the great things about Before Midnight was that it broke with those conventions. If you're looking for special effects, go elsewhere. A real pair of breasts beats special effects any day.
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